


Unexpected (Visitors, Remix of)

by Fullmetalcarer



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Dark, Heavy Angst, I'm really sorry, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-21 23:13:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11367618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fullmetalcarer/pseuds/Fullmetalcarer
Summary: Erik and Charles meet after the zombie apocalypse.  The world is ending.  Perhaps it has already ended and they are just clinging to an illusion of life.





	Unexpected (Visitors, Remix of)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Unforgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforgotten/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Visitors](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342634) by [Unforgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforgotten/pseuds/Unforgotten). 
  * In response to a prompt by [Unforgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforgotten/pseuds/Unforgotten) in the [xmen_remix_madness2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmen_remix_madness2017) collection. 



> Heed the tags. If you need cheering up, go read Unforgotten's fic.

Erik surrounded himself with a whirling maelstrom of metal as he sprinted for the house. The howling of the zombies was scarcely audible above the gristly, squelchy sounds of slicing and dicing. Then he tripped and bashed his head. A moment's disorientation, the metal crashed to the ground and they came swarming at him. There was a deafening explosion. Bits of zombie shot up into the air then came raining down again. All gone.

Erik got up and jogged to the house, ears ringing. A heavily fortified door hung open. A guy in a wheelchair was sitting there holding a bazooka.

"Charles Xavier," said the man, holding out a hand.

Erik shook it. Charles' fingers were cold and clammy.

"Erik Lehnsherr."

"Lovely to meet you, Erik, and under such delightful circumstances."

He chuckled a little at his joke. Erik side-eyed him. Charles led him through the cavernous, labyrinthine house. They ended up in a room that looked as though it had once been an office, but was now a combination of bedroom, storage room, dining room and, from the look of certain containers tucked away under the furniture, impromptu bathroom.

"You're rather liberally covered in zombie. There's a shower a couple of doors down. It'll be cold - I can't spare the power to heat it - but it's gravity fed so it works."

"Thank you."

Charles pressed a couple of towels - which had once been luxurious, but were now decidedly the worse for wear - on him. Erik revelled in the shower. Sure, it was cold, but it was still a shower. The pressure was even quite good, tank on the roof probably. The soap was a very expensive brand, smelling of mint and bergamot. Erik hadn't felt this clean in years. Now there was the problem of what to wear. He didn't want to put his zombie spattered clothes on. There was a knock at the door.

"I've scared you up some clothes. The sweatpants will probably be a bit short, but the rest should fit."

Erik slung the towel round his waist and opened the door. Charles' gaze slid down his chest and up his legs, then quickly flicked back to his eyes. So, Charles shared certain of Erik's tastes.

"Thank you," he said, taking the clothes and letting his fingers drift over Charles' chill, damp hand.

The tips of his fingers were black. Poor circulation, probably. He closed the door and dressed in the grey sweatpants - which were too short - and baggy sweatshirt. He pulled on the bright blue socks. God, they felt gorgeous, so soft, must be cashmere or something. He walked back to the other room, alert for any sound or movement, his old clothes over his arm and turned inside out to avoid zombie goo. Charles' mouth curved into a bright smile.

"Much better, you look positively respectable."

"First time anyone's ever said that about me."

Charles laughed. Erik couldn't help noticing he was fucking gorgeous. Thick, messy, dark hair. Big, too-blue eyes. A red mouth made for cock-sucking. Nose a bit too big for his face, but Erik didn't mind that, it kept him from being too pretty. The only downside was his skin. The skin of his throat was pale, exceptionally pale. But the rest of his neck and his face was a weird pinky-orange colour. It looked like poorly applied foundation. Well, if Charles wanted to face the zombie apocalypse wearing a bit of make-up, who was Erik to judge.

"That's a lovely mutation you have," said Charles.

"Thanks. Comes in useful for zombie shredding."

Charles laughed again. Fuck, he was lovely. Erik hadn't had sex with anyone but himself for five months and seventeen days. God, the things he could do to Charles.

And the things I could do to you.

Erik startled. The voice in his head had been unbearably loud.

Sorry, I'm rather out of practice. No one to practice on. Is this better?

Yes, much better. One of my best friends was a telepath.

Charles smiled but didn't ask about Erik's telepath friend. He'd probably picked up that Emma was long dead.

So, about those things we could do to each other? projected Charles.

The lights went off. Erik struggled to fight down a rising claustrophobia at being stuck in a room with one entrance in a strange house in the dark.

"It's a power outage, not the apocalypse, calm down," came Charles' posh, velvety voice from the darkness.

Amazement almost subsumed his panic.

"Was that a joke?" asked Erik.

"Yes, and it was hilarious, if I do say so myself. Which I do."

Erik snorted, but his mind was on other things. Without power, they couldn't stay here. This huge mansion was barely defensible as it was, never mind with the fences off.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous. We don't have to go anywhere. We just have to turn the generator back on."

"Where is it?"

"At the back of the house."

Erik got out his gun and a flashlight. Charles picked up a Colt and a bayonet. They made their way through the darkened house, Charles leading the way after a brief argument. Erik's senses were always heightened at times like these. His powers reached out for the surrounding metal, ready to use it as weaponry. Every sound seemed deafening; his own footsteps, the crunch of the chair wheels, the noise of Charles' breathing. He had a weirdly irregular breathing pattern, pausing for an inordinately long time, then dragging in a short, raspy breath.

After what seemed like miles of corridor, Erik muttered that the house was way too big to defend. Charles argued that he'd been doing alright - which was true, as he'd made it this far - and said his family had owned the place since the 1800s. He also explained that, given the wheelchair, hunting for another, suitable place was nigh on impossible. He had a point.

They got to the back door. Charles pointed him at the generator and downloaded the start-up instructions into his head. Erik knelt down and got to work, while Charles covered him. He had to pick off a crawler at one point. Starting the generator only took a few minutes. Erik could feel that a few components were worn and misaligned, so he sorted that out with his powers.

They made their way back to Charles' former office. They ate canned vegetables, Erik heating the cans. Charles offered him an air-bed for the night, which Erik gratefully accepted. They chatted about Erik's plans for finding others and fighting back. Charles didn't seem to think he had much of a chance. Erik argued that with enough soldiers, especially mutants, they could wipe out the zombies. It wouldn't be easy, it wouldn't be quick, but it was possible. He offered to take Charles with him, levitating the wheelchair to demonstrate that he could provide transport. Charles remained unconvinced, despite all Erik's arguments and he had plenty.

All the while he could feel his attraction to Charles building. Not just because he was beautiful, but because he was brilliant, funny, determined and devastatingly competent. Erik had a bit of a competence kink. He knew Charles was attracted to him and not just from the conversation they'd had earlier. A warm fog of desire had been twining through his thoughts for the past hour.

Charles transferred to his bed. There was something very odd about the way he moved. Something to do with his disability perhaps? Erik read and tried to ignore his increasing arousal. He was succeeding quite well and had almost nodded off when Charles said:

"If you're gay or desperate, I also don't mind sharing the bed."

"Was that a come-on?"

"Apparently not a very good one. Yes, it was a come-on. The only ambiguity here is whether you intend to take me up on it."

"I'm not desperate."

He climbed onto the bed and took Charles' in his arms. He felt cold. Erik would soon warm him up. This close, in contrast with a recently showered Erik, he smelt a bit off. He kissed him, mouths closed at first, then slipped his tongue between those plush lips and curled it round Charles' tongue. He tasted . . . disgusting. No, he tasted delicious, he smelt divine, he felt warm and solid. There was nothing wrong. Everything was alright. Everything was perfect.

Love me, Erik, love me, it's my last chance.

Erik tore himself out of Charles' embrace and shoved himself backwards off the bed. He landed on the floor with a thud and fought his way to his feet.

Charles was staring at him with huge blue eyes. They looked too big for his face. They were too big for his face. Those beautiful blue eyes stared at him from sunken eye-sockets. His cheeks were hollow, cheekbones hideously prominent. His jaw seemed about to break through his flesh. All the makeup in the world couldn't disguise that grey skin. He stank of decay. Erik's mouth was foul with the taste of death.

"You're . . . you're one of them."

Erik dived for his gun, grabbed it and swung round to shoot Charles. He froze. He could breath and he could blink, but that was all. Charles sat up in bed. Huge tears welled from his beautiful eyes and spilled like crystals down his dead cheeks.

"It was my sister. I hesitated. I had a clear shot at her and I hesitated because she was my sister. She managed to take a chunk out of my arm before I shot her. I thought I'd change in a few hours like the rest of them. But I didn't. At first I thought I was miraculously immune. Then I began to notice changes. Stiffness when moving. Lower body temperature. My skin drying and cracking. The urge to eat raw meat. And my telepathy changed. My control's always been amazing, but it started to get wildly unpredictable. Then the decay began."

He sighed.

"I think it progressed so slowly because I'm a telepath. The architecture of the psionic brain is very different from that of a non-psionic, mutant or human. And of course the brain is the centre of the virus' assault."

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Some of the foundation rubbed off, showing the decay beneath.

"I'm sorry for what I did to you. I meant to help you out and send you on your way. I cast a bit of an illusion so you wouldn't be scared. But when I felt your attraction to me . . . I . . . you're . . . you're so alive, Erik. Your mind is like a thunderstorm lit with lightning, your body is warm and strong and strung with perfect sinew and lean muscle. And you wanted me. And I wanted you, I wanted just a little life and love before the dark. I'm sorry. It's probably just as well the illusion faded when it did, I doubt I'd have been able to keep it going while we . . . while we . . . I'm sorry."

Erik felt himself move towards the bed. He struggled frantically to stop. He couldn't. He reached out for the every piece of metal in the room. It ignored him. He was standing right in front of the bed now, right in front of Charles. He was overwhelmed by terror. He'd been in some horrific situations in his life, but he'd never felt anything like this. Sheer atavistic terror in the presence of the undead, knowing that soon he would be one of them. He lowered the gun. He bent down.

Charles transformed. Suddenly he was glowing with life. His blue eyes sparkled. He moistened his red lips with his tongue. His cheeks flushed a delicate rosy pink. His skin was warm and creamy. He smelt of clean sweat and expensive cologne. Erik kissed him, sweet and soft and long. He tasted of peaches.

Something deep and purely instinctive in Erik screamed that this was illusion, that he was kissing a living corpse. Erik stood up.

"I tried to kill myself," said Charles, beautiful, lush-with-life, completely illusory Charles.

"It won't let me, the virus. I've held a gun to my head, but never been able to pull the trigger. I've put a knife to my throat then put it straight back down again. I've tied a rope around my neck and untied it again."

He looked straight at Erik, a vision of unearthly beauty.

"Promise me one thing. Bury me next to my sister. Her grave is under the grove of birch trees at the back of the house."

Then Erik was released and he raised the gun and emptied the entire clip into Charles' perfect face. There wasn't much of Charles' head left when he'd finished. The corpse was a small, pathetic thing, riddled with decay.

It took him ages to dig a grave under the birch trees, next to the other one. The ground was hard. He covered up the remains with earth and built a little cairn of stones on top. He didn't say any words. What was there to say?

The sky was turning grey when he finished. It would be dawn soon.


End file.
